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As therefore the state of man now is, what wisdom can there be to choose, what continence to forbear, without the knowledge of good and evil?

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Men
Choose
Wisdom
State
Knowledge
Evil
States
Continence
Without
Forbear
Good
Therefore

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Tis chastity, my brother, chastity She that has that is clad in complete steel, And, like a quiver'd nymph with arrows keen, May trace huge forests, and unharbour'd heaths, Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds Where, through the sacred rays of chastity, No savage fierce, bandite, or mountaineer, Will dare to soil her virgin purity.
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Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth.
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With eyes Of conjugal attraction unreprov'd. Imparadised in one another's arms. With thee conversing I forget all time. And feel that I am happier than I know.
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If we think we regulate printing, thereby to rectify manners, we must regulate all regulations and pastimes, all that is delightful to man.
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Wisdom's self oft seeks to sweet retired solitude, where with her best nurse Contemplation, she plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings that in the various bustle of resort were all to-ruffled, and sometimes impaired.
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So he with difficulty and labour hard Mov'd on, with difficulty and labour he.
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Hide me from day's garish eye.
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In discourse more sweet For eloquence the soul, song charms the sense. Others apart sat on a hill retir'd, In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate, Fix'd fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute And found no end, in wand'ring mazes lost.
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And now the herald lark Left his ground-nest, high tow'ring to descry The morn's approach, and greet her with his song.
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His rod revers'd, And backward mutters of dissevering power.
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Truth is as impossible to be soiled by any outward touch as the sunbeam.
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And some are fall'n, to disobedience fall'n, And so from Heav'n to deepest Hell O fall From what high state of bliss into what woe!
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These evils I deserve, and more . . . . Justly, yet despair not of his final pardon, Whose ear is ever open, and his eye Gracious to re-admit the suppliant.
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And to the faithful: death, the gate of life.
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Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful Jollity, Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides.
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The great creator from his work returned Magnificent, his six days' work, a world.
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With a smile that glow'd Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue.
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God sure esteems the growth and completing of one virtuous person, more that the restraint of ten vicious.
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No man who knows aught, can be so stupid to deny that all men naturally were born free.
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Lords are lordliest in their wine.
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